EMPOWER: verb = emancipate, unshackle, set free, liberate

emotional abuse

If you haven’t seen The Greatest Showman yet, you should. It’s a beautiful movie that hits all my criteria: Great acting, great music, a moving story, a meaningful message, and something that can be watched with my kids.

The story is about P.T. Barnum, the man who started the first circus. He enlists a band of society’s outcasts, and they form their own sort of family; they understand each other’s scars and come together to support and love each other.

Barnum then gets caught up in his fame, and the pride sets in. He shuns his loyal troop at a fancy party because he doesn’t want to be associated with this group of outcasts in front of his hoity-toity friends.

The bearded lady then responds with an absolutely stunning musical number, and it resonated with me BIG TIME. I regularly rock out to this song; it’s my victory anthem. Check it out.

I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
‘Cause we don’t want your broken parts
I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one’ll love you as you are

But I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me
Look out ’cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

Another round of bullets hits my skin
Well, fire away ’cause today, I won’t let the shame sink in
We are bursting through the barricades and
Reaching for the sun (we are warriors)
Yeah, that’s what we’ve become (yeah, that’s what we’ve become)

I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us

For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be, this is me
Look out ’cause here I come
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

This is me

and I know that I deserve your love
(Oh-oh-oh-oh) ’cause there’s nothing I’m not worthy of
(Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh)
When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
This is brave, this is proof
This is who I’m meant to be, this is me

Look out ’cause here I come (look out ’cause here I come)
And I’m marching on to the beat I drum (marching on, marching, marching on)
I’m not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I’m gonna send a flood
Gonna drown them out
Oh
This is me

A favourite past time of Christians is to gloss over hard things by declaring that these things are “God’s plan”. Adoption – and all the loss, the grief, the trauma, the separation, and the damage – is no exception.

So is it true? Is adoption God’s plan?

I really don’t believe it is.

I don’t believe it was God’s plan for my first mother to be alone and pregnant for the second time when she was only 18. I don’t believe it was God’s plan that she was born into a family of addiction, raised in foster homes, and then learned to fend for herself at a mere 16 years old.

I don’t believe it was God’s plan for me to separated from my mother and my older sister. I don’t believe God is in the business of broken families.

I don’t believe it was God’s plan for someone to step up to take a baby, but leave a mother alone and wounded – so they could fill their own needs. I don’t believe He is okay with adopters benefiting from a young mother going through a crisis.

I don’t believe it was God’s plan for me to be adopted by parents that would neglect and emotionally abuse me. I don’t believe it was His plan that I grow up as a lonely little girl, seeking the love and belonging I desperately needed, and having emotional damage that would never be acknowledged or tended to by my adoptive parents.

No.

I believe God’s plan is for every last one of his children to be born into families where love and grace abound, and where they are nurtured and cherished. I believe God is in the business of people and families being whole.

“But that’s not reality, though.”

Duh.

Here’s a newsflash: Not everything that happens in this world is “God’s plan”. In fact, most of it is not. So why do we call these things “God’s doings”? Are we really so simple that we can’t accept the great chasm that sometimes exists between our circumstances and God’s perfect will?

Just because it sounds nice and may feel good to believe that adoption is “God’s plan”, doesn’t make it true. It’s a lie. And it’s a harmful lie. I’ve had many people tell me that being adopted was part of His design for me. I don’t buy it. Why would His plan for one person be to grow up in a loving, secure home with their biological family, and His plan for me to begin with loss and trauma? God does not dole out good fortune to one person and less-than-ideal fortune to another; that would make Him a sick and twisted puppet master. I know it is not in His character to author harm for any of us.

Part of the enemy’s scheme is to convince us that God is the creator of our pain and hardship to turn us away from Him. The enemy doesn’t have to go any further than finding religious Christians and churches to spread this lie on his behalf. It’s sick and demonic, but it’s brilliant marketing on his part. Who better to get to spread his lies than than God’s kids themselves?

And there’s no shortage of religious Christians who will line up to spout this garbage and teach it freely. Had a miscarriage? “Well, God’s ways are mysterious, but He must have some plan for you in it.” You were diagnosed with cancer? “God wants you to learn through your suffering.” (*BARF*) That theology is a lie from the pit of hell and from the mouth of the enemy himself. God gives us life, and life abundant; He gives us hope, and a future. It is the enemy who steals, kills, and destroys (John 10:10). Don’t believe a demonically-inspired theology that will inevitably harden your heart and turn you away from the One Person who can truly help you. Because that is what that theology and the spirit behind it intends to do.

Adoption was never God’s plan for ANY of his children. And just think of the damage it causes to the heart of an adopted child to tell them that God wanted this to happen. That God authored the hurt, the trauma, the grief, and all that goes along with it. Think about it again: Why would we tell adopted children that God wanted this for them?

If you were adopted, hear this again: Adoption, and all the pain and hurt it causes, WAS NOT GOD’S PERFECT PLAN FOR YOU.

He doesn’t hurt us just to turn around and heal us. He doesn’t harm us then expect us to come running to His arms. Doctors don’t break our arm and then want to fix it – they would get charged for that, right? They’re not that stupid or twisted, so why do we think God is? (Which seems intuitively obvious, yet much Christian theology teaches this mixed-up, harm-then-heal theology.)

So where does God play a role in adoption, then?

He is the healer and redeemer. He is the one waiting to redeem all the damage done by adoption. He is the one who wants to help pick up the pieces, while he shakes His head over what messes we humans make of things when left to our own devices. He is the one who mends what was broken.

He is the one who took my shattered, orphaned soul, and tenderly pieced it back together.

He is the one who has been showing me what perfect Love is and what it looks and feels like.

He is the one who whispers to me, “I never meant for you to get hurt” and draws me into His arms, the same way we do for our kids when they experience an emotional blow at the hands of another human.

He is the Perfect Parent who has never and WILL never leave me nor forsake me. He is both mother and father, filling in the gaps and lesions I had in my heart.

He didn’t author my adoption. Because if He did, that means that He authored my mother’s wounds, my abandonment, a life of psychological abuse from a narcissistic family system, and the fact that I will never be part of a “normal” family.

Please, let’s stop giving the enemy free advertising by spreading his lies that make God the bad guy, turning people away from Him; instead, let’s learn God’s truth and spread that, so that people can be drawn in by His love.

God is the good guy. He is in my story, and He wants to be in yours too.

Adoption is not His plan. But healing, redemption, freedom, truth, and hope? Those are exactly His plan, which He is just waiting to carry out in each of us, if we let Him.

The truth is all the more important when speaking out results in attacks; it’s a sign you’re on exactly the right track. The darkness hates when the light exposes it.

The last thing an abuser wants is for their victim(s) to speak out about their behaviours.

When this abuse happens within the narcissistic family, it’s not just the narcissistic parent who doesn’t want the victim to speak out – the children who become the parent’s enablers and protectors also make that their goal.

It seems pretty backwards that children who grew up in the same abuse (or at the very least, watched it happen to others in the family) would protect the very person responsible for that abuse. But, as we know, narcissists are experts at grooming those around them to cater to and protect them in every way. Often, the entire family will protect the narcissist and enable them to continue to abuse; certain children will even become perpetrators of the abuse as well. It’s one of the sickest family trees out there.

I recently received a comment on a post from a sibling who commented with a fake name. (Mistake 1: Underestimating the detective skills of the scapegoat. 😉)

Here is what “Steve” had to say.

This is textbook narcissistic family dynamics.

It is very common for emotional abusers to gaslight those they abuse by minimizing the abuse – they reduce it down to a “pity party”, and/or accuse you of being self-centred.

And if you haven’t yet been able to get out of the abuse, you might even believe those words.

I did for years. “You’re too sensitive, get over it.” “That never happened.” “Mom didn’t mean that, she’s just getting old.” “You’re all about yourself.”

This is a prime example of the kind of emotional manipulation that the narcissistic family feeds off of, and how they attempt to silence the victim and keep them under their thumb.

If you’ve experienced this – let me tell you: WHEN YOU OPEN UP ABOUT THE ABUSE, IT IS NOT A PITY PARTY.

The “pity party” card is a common one used by abusers and their enablers. Don’t fall for it. I don’t anymore.

There is no pity involved in escaping an abusive relationship or system. There is no pity involved in opening up about the abuse.

Petty accusations are simply a tool used by someone who feels threatened; if they can’t shut you up, at least they can try to insult you, right? They can try to dismiss your words and try to make you question yourself. They can try to spin you in a negative light so others question your experience too. They can try to intimidate you into shutting your mouth.

But we know better.

The truth is all the more important when speaking out results in attacks; it’s a sign you’re on exactly the right track. The darkness hates when the light exposes it.

And the “Steves” will always be there. Forgive, give grace (because most of them are still bound up by the lies and abuse), and move on. But don’t let them squash you.

An authority decided these mothers were the best placement for 2 separate groups of vulnerable children on 2 separate occasions. The second placement happened AFTER allegations of abuse were found to be true.

The women isolated themselves and removed their family from the public eye as much as possible.

They placed themselves and their family in positions that held up their facade of being a social-justice-driven, happy clan.

Their friends, acquaintances, and neighbours felt like something was off, but most of them avoided pursuing it because it didn’t align with their idea of who they believed the Hart mothers to be.

The children were regularly showing signs (and in some cases, even verbalizing it to people they thought might help) of abuse and neglect.

But the thing that gets to me the MOST, is the facade they kept up, and how that facade is what prevented so many people from coming forward. “But they were such a nice family. They adopted those poor kids and saved them from drug-addicted moms. They grew their own vegetables and attended political protests in the name of love!”

And that is exactly the problem with the saviour complex in adoption. We’re so busy praising these “selfless” adoptive parents that we’re missing the abuse. The lenses we’ve put on that positions adopters as sacrificial do-gooders is the very lens that is allowing warning signs to be missed.

I’m an example of this.

My mom abused me physically and emotionally. She regularly hit me on the bare bottom with a belt when I misbehaved. She ignored me. She didn’t play with me or volunteer at my school or take me to the library even though she was a stat-at-home-mom. She neglected guiding me about hygiene and reproduction. She lied about my past, my birth family, and my heritage and kept vital information hidden from me. She gaslights me continuously. She plays the victim if I try to approach her about anything. She uses her facade of sickness and fragility to garner an army of soldiers around her who will defend her and her lies, and who threaten and attack me for speaking out about the abuse. And my dad? He has stood by for the entirety of my life and let all of this happen. (She has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, which is devastatingly common in adoptive mothers.)

But no one knew about the abuse and neglect, because all they chose to see was what a “nice” family we were from the outside, and surely someone doesn’t selflessly adopt a child and then abuse and neglect it.

Actually, they do. Lots of people do. More and more adoptees are speaking out about being abused in the very homes that were supposed to protect them and help them heal.

Many adoptees were taken from abusive situations, only to end up in another abusive situation.

But see, our lenses are adjusted to see abuse when it’s a young, single, alcoholic mother. Her children should be taken from her. She’s not a fit mother.

We don’t see the abuse when it’s a nice, white, Christian, married couple who “lovingly” opened their home to an unwanted child. Oh, that’s so nice! John and Martha adopted that poor little baby girl. You know, I heard her birth mother was a drug addict. Oh, she is just so lucky to have a nice family now.

You’ve heard it. Maybe you’ve thought it. Maybe you’ve said it.

We need to change our lenses. Kids who are already vulnerable are being hurt. Kids who were already abused are being abused even more. Kids who deserve a home that will protect them and help them heal are being put in homes where they are being victimized further. Kids with trauma and wounds are being placed with people who not only ignore those things, but deny their existence.

We can’t prevent it all. But this heart-wrenching story tells me we can do more. We can do better. And we must.

I had to heal from Stockholm Syndrome before I realized that my narcissistic mother’s lies and omissions were harmful. For a long time, I thought my mom was simply uneducated, had no time to discuss important topics, and was even just a little endearingly daft.

It took me a long time to realize that these lies were yet another facet of narcissistic abuse.

The Red Cross defines “child abuse” as any action that results in physical or emotional damage. Check. This can happen through neglect (check), lack of proper hygiene (check), and lack of appropriate education (check).

Remember too, that narcissists lie. They tell lies of commission (telling misinformation) as well as lies of omission (leaving out important information).

Rewind to my childhood:

I thought it was normal that my mom didn’t have conversations with me about my changing body. When I started sprouting breasts, it was my oldest brother’s girlfriend who admonished my mom to purchase me some bras to conceal my overly-obvious nipples. When I started experiencing body odour, it was again my brother’s girlfriend who told my mom to buy me some deoderant so I wouldn’t stink. I often cringe thinking about little girl Sarah, going to school with nipples showing and reeking of body odour.

I thought it was normal that we never used proper body terms. When I was around age 7, I recall seeing our dog’s penis sticking out one day, and asking what it was. My mom replied, “Oh, was his little red wagon sticking out?” We used colloquialisms for anything related to genitals; I learned that there was something inherently shameful about those particular body parts if we weren’t even supposed to say those words. I didn’t know until I was an adult how much that one detail increased my risk of being sexually abused as a child, and how much it would help me talk about it properly (and have a proper testimony) if it had ever happened. Never mind to have a healthy body image and proper view of sex and reproduction.

I thought it was normal that I didn’t know about the menstrual cycle until I explored the plastic-wrapped packages I’d see in the garbage every so often. I was alarmed to see that someone had been bleeding, and was old enough to have already been in the know about changes my own body would undergo in not too long. Years into having my period, I had to explore tampons on my own, as my mom had never offered them as a more comfortable and discrete option.

I thought it was normal that my parents never taught me about sex. I vividly remember figuring out what the sex act was, when I overheard a rape victim describe her rape in detail on the evening news. I recall the shock I felt as I heard her describe her perpetrator forcing his penis inside of her. I remember being frozen in time, hearing this information, and in this manner. My heart beat and the words rang in my ears as I processed what I had just heard. I should never had had my first knowledge of sex come in the context of rape.

I thought it was normal that my mom told me misinformation about topics she didn’t want to discuss. I’ll never forget the time I was in grade 6 and inquired about how a person contracted AIDS. With her own agenda in mind, as always, she flipped off a quick reply to my query: “By having sex with more than one person”. I knew not to press, but held that information inside of me and wrongly trusted that my mom was telling the truth. I also remember when my good friend told me later that year that her mom was pregnant; I knew her mom was with someone other than my friend’s dad, so I replied in concern: “But now your mom has AIDS!” She laughed at me, and told me how ridiculous that statement was. My cheeks burned in embarrassment, and felt such anger at my mom for setting me up like that. I should have known the truth.

I thought it was normal for my mom to tell me I needed to wash better because she had seen the slightest amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear as a teenager. I showered daily, but figured I wasn’t doing a good enough job. I remember washing obsessively, thinking I was dirty and gross, and feeling ashamed for my body doing something that was, in fact, perfectly normal. I felt shame over a bodily function that God designed us to have, because my mom had again given me misinformation. It wasn’t until my adult years, when I began exploring natural birth control methods, that I realized that cervical mucus was normal and a sign of a healthy body; it was part of how God designed women. Instead, I lived for years in shame with the lie that I was dirty and abnormal.

I thought it was normal for my mom to include nothing more in my sex education than “don’t have it”. (And at this point she still hadn’t officially discussed anything about human reproduction with me). She was adamant that I just don’t have sex until married, but never expanded more on it. I was never given a healthy view on what sex was, how to enjoy it safely, how wonderful it is in the context of marriage, and that it was a good thing.

I thought this was all normal.

I thought it was just mom being mom. Haha, she’s so funny and clueless. Oh, mom.

As a younger adult, I laughed about these stories with my siblings, and about their own similar stories.

It’s just mom.

But the I realized that no, it’s not. It’s abuse.

It’s abuse to fail to provide proper hygiene from a child.

It’s abuse to lie, omit information, or give false information.

It’s abuse deny proper sexual education for a child.

It’s abuse to set up a child for embarrassment and shame, and to go into adolescence and adulthood not knowing basic information about our bodies and reproduction.

So no, it wasn’t just mom being cute. It wasn’t just mom being embarrassed.

It was mom being selfish. It was mom neglecting. It was mom breaching trust. It was mom doing damage. It was my mom emotionally abusing.

And it was not okay.

It has taken years to reshape those topics in my mind. Years of seeking truth to replace the lies. Years to realize that this was yet another facet of the dysfunction and abuse.

But I’ve also discovered I am not alone. Recently, in a Facebook support group, the topic came up on the absurd lies that narcissistic mothers have told. I was shocked to see that that VAST majority of them were related to sex and reproduction. What I experienced was very common, and there is extreme comfort in that.

So if that was also you, I want to affirm you by saying that it was wrong that you were not taught properly. It was wrong that you were lied to, that you were given misinformation or no information, and that you went into your teen and adult years ill-equipped. It was wrong that you started your adult life with so much wounding in this area, and so much falsehood to undo. It was wrong.

We needed our moms to teach and guide us. We needed our moms to tell us the truth, to be open and honest, and to be the source of information that we could trust. We needed our moms to be the safe place we could go to talk to about sex and puberty. We needed to have a healthy view of sex, not a distorted one based on lies. We needed so much more.

Thankfully, God is in the business of redemption, and He can redeem this too. You are not alone. I am not alone.

Spiritual abuse is a common – and particularly twisted – form of mistreatment found within the narcissistic family dynamic.

Many articles out there focus on spiritual abuse within the context of the church, but it happens within the family just as (or more?) often. It can be hard to notice, because these narcissists are upstanding Christians who we shouldn’t question, right? So I thought I would share my experiences with spiritual abuse in the context of the narcissistic family dynamic (but please know this happens in families in the absence of Narcissistic Personality Disorder too). I hope this helps others be able to pinpoint, and then stop, any spiritual abuse in their life.

The definition of the word “abuse” is as follows:

“Spiritual abuse” is the act of misusing Biblical principles for one’s own agenda, and as a means to continue maltreatment of another. Spiritual abusers will use Bible verses and faith concepts to justify their abuse and harm of another person; they will also use the Bible as a means to avoid changing their behaviour or taking responsibility for their poor choices.

Sounds like the perfect tool for the narcissist’s tool box. A narcissist is not interested in ever taking responsibility for how they affect others, nevermind change their behaviour to stop the hurt. On top of it, a narcissist will turn it on you and make sure you know that you are the problem. Never them. And spiritual abuse is just another facet of how they do this.

Here are some examples of what spiritual abuse looks like:

1. You are told you should continue bearing the abuse of someone, because Jesus was also abused and walked on.

Let’s get this one straight. Jesus was persecuted for his faith, and He was walked on and eventually crucified to fulfill Old Testament prophecy. The abuse and death he endured was for the salvation of mankind, not for the justification of an abuser’s actions. The suffering you endure at the hands of a narcissist or other unhealthy person does not serve a greater purpose; in fact, the only purpose it will serve is to enable the abuser and keep them in their sin longer. And that is not a purpose that God is on board with. The Bible does not tell us to bear the sinful actions of others; in fact, we are told in several places to have nothing to do with evil actions. Persecution for the sake of our faith (which we are told will happen if we are truly following Jesus) is an entirely different thing than being persecuted by another person’s sin. It is pure evil, in my opinion, to use the name of Jesus or anything written in God’s Word to even suggest that someone’s abusive behaviour is justified or should be tolerated. He came to make us free, not to put us in bondage to another person’s dysfunction.

2. When you question or call out an abuser for their behaviour, you are told you need to have more grace, or be more gracious,.

Grace is defined as the “free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings.” Grace is God’s gift to us, to empower us to be what the Bible says we are; grace is not for enabling sin. When an abuser (or an abuser’s enabler) uses the grace card on you, it is not really grace they are asking for; they are asking for you to tolerate their abuse and to quit speaking up. They are expecting you to enable them in their poor behaviour the way that others in their world do. Are we to give grace and allow someone to continue to mistreat us? No. In fact, Paul said that we are not to continue in our sin so that God’s grace will abound (Romans 6:1). God himself placed boundaries around His grace to prevent it from being misused. And narcissists are experts on misusing grace. The very nature of a narcissist (never seeing their flaws or their responsibility in anything, never mind doing their part to repair and reconcile) make them a prime suspect of this manipulative use of grace.

Are we to extend grace to others? Of course. But using God’s own word as a guideline, we are not to use grace simply so that sin – our own or others’ – can abound. And that is exactly what a narcissist does: their sin abounds, and they do not want to own or change their behaviour. Giving grace to a narcissist can be very dangerous ground. If someone in your world is telling you that you need to be more gracious, or expects you to extend more grace to them BUT IS NOT TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR THEIR BEHAVIOUR OR MAKING CHANGES, they are misusing the concept of grace to continue to abuse.

3. When you try to speak to someone about how their actions affect you, and they use Bible verses to justify their poor behaviour.

This is a common one I have encountered; a verse about “loving one another” or “bearing one another’s burdens” is slipped into a conversation where the abuser’s behaviour is being called out, and they don’t want to take responsibility. A Bible verse is a sick tactic used to shift the focus of the conversation and to implore the victim to be more “loving” or “patient”. This twisted use of Scripture holds some irony in it – an abuser uses God’s Word about love and patience, yet themselves show none of it. Spiritual abusers do not think the rules apply to them, only to you, and only to shut you up and stop you from questioning them.

It is wrong for anyone to use God’s Word to justify any ongoing behaviour that wounds another person; God’s Word is meant to bring freedom, not to bind people further. Quoting Bible verses to others should serve to encourage another person, not to abuse. Not to silence. Not to shame. Not to justify sin. Period.

4. You are told to be more forgiving and let it go, because that is what the Bible says to do.

Yes, the Bible absolutely says to forgive. However, to forgive does not mean to continue to be a doormat for someone’s abuse. Here is the definition of “forgive”:

Nowhere in that definition does it say “to continue to be abused and bear it silently”. To forgive is to cease feeling angry, and to cancel someone’s debt; but it doesn’t mean we keep lending to them. I once heard someone say, “Forgiveness is mandatory. Trust is earned.” When we forgive, it doesn’t mean we continue to make ourselves vulnerable and open to ongoing hurt and abuse.

When someone implores you to forgive but they don’t change their behaviour, count it as a red flag. They are using the concept of forgiveness to control and to avoid changing. Most spiritual abusers I’ve encountered want “forgiveness” so they don’t have to change, but have no intention of achieving true reconciliation (a process which involves both parties owning, acknowledging, forgiving, and changing future behaviour). Remember that forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things: you can forgive someone on your own, but reconciliation involves the efforts of both sides (something you will not get from a narcissist).

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Spiritual abuse is a common tactic for the narcissists out there who call themselves Christians. It is just another way that they do what they know: To hurt people, and then to find any way to avoid responsibility or change, and to make everyone else the problem. Unfortunately, spiritual abuse spins God and His Word in a negative light, and perpetuates lies about Him that keep people from wanting to know Him.

I feel grieved to think of the countless sons and daughters out there who have been turned away from their Heavenly Father because of how their narcissist parent twisted and misused His words and message. If that is you, please know that God’s heart is the absolute opposite of what you experienced: He would never damage you, and He wants to heal you and set you free.

My mom only offered me the back of her head as she watched her morning-to-night schedule of television shows.

Other moms played with them.

I eventually stopped asking my mom to play with me; the answer was always “no”.

When my friends would return to school after a sick day, they’d tell of their time spent cuddling with their mothers and watching cartoons. They bemoaned being back at school and wished they could have stayed home longer.

I, however, couldn’t wait to get back to school after a day spent sick at home. For me, those days consisted of being forced to stay in my bedroom alone; I was only allowed to come out to eat a meal or use the washroom. And then it was back in my bedroom, while my mom watched her lineup of daytime television. I have one memory of getting to watch “The Price is Right” with her on a sick day, and her reasoning was because the illness had been so severe it had warranted that small privilege. Consequently, I couldn’t wait to feel better and get back to school; back to my lovely elementary school teachers who bestowed on me the warmth and kindness I so yearned for.

I knew my mom was different than other moms when I scraped my knee after skidding out on my bike on the road one afternoon. I shrieked with horror to see the blood mixed with gravel, and feeling the tiny rocks and sand embedded in my wound. Hearing my screams and crying, my mom stormed out of the house, pulled me by the arm across the yard, and hollered at me for making a scene. I was rebuked for my reaction and for causing her embarrassment. I shouldn’t have cried like that. I learned that when I was hurt, to close my mouth and not have any needs; my needs got me in trouble.

I knew my mom was different when I spent an afternoon with my godmother and her son when I was about five years of age. We went for a walk to the hill at the water tower, and I fell and cut my knee on some broken glass. I remember holding in my hurt, and bracing myself for the tongue-lashing over the even small show of emotion. I had been taught what happened when I cried or expressed my needs. But instead, my godmother lovingly carried me to the nearby Family Resource Centre and Preschool, and bandaged me up with the supplies they offered. I remember my little heart bursting over how kind she had been; why wasn’t my mom like that? Oh, how I wished my mom was like that. Being jealous of other people’s loving moms was something I would become accustomed to.

I knew something was different with my mom as I grew older, too. As I got more vocal in my teenage years, I was berated for being argumentative. She never listened to me. When I approached difficult topics with her, she threw up her hands, became the victim, and never heard the thoughts I would share. I learned to scream and holler in frustration, which only caused me to get in more trouble (but at least it offered some temporary release). I had so much anger well up in me; but my parent – my guide in this life – refused to help me with it. In fact, she was the fuel to the flame, and then would defend herself in it. She never sought to draw out my heart and hear what the anger was about. She didn’t want to know. And so I held it in and suffered alone.

I knew all there was something different, something was “off” about my moms compared to other moms I saw, but I figured, “It’s just how she is”. There was no one who understood, my siblings just shrugged it off, and I was left feeling alone and bewildered.

I started biting my nails in early elementary. I developed a rich fantasy life as a young child; during the many hours that I was banished to my room, I would imagined someone coming to save me. I easily developed crushes on boys, because I yearned for the love I didn’t get from my mom, or from my enabling father who was a workaholic and emotionally absent. As a teenager, I started rebelling; I started abusing alcohol in grade 10, and by grade 12 I was partying every weekend. I dated guys who weren’t good for me. I lied to everyone around me because I didn’t want them to know. At 20, I was diagnosed with depression and started taking medication. I was still biting my nails.

But mom was just mom. She was just different than other moms. Oh well.

Meanwhile, I was falling apart and didn’t know why. I was drowning my wounds in whatever I could find that was still socially acceptable enough to appear normal.

And the worse part was, I was berated by my mother for the very symptoms she had caused. I was gross because I bit my nails; I should stop. I was persecuted emotionally because I had rebelled. I was dirty because I had done the unspeakable (have sex before marriage). I was crazy because I struggled with depression. All of these things were used as tools against me, and reasons why my thoughts and feelings were never validated. I was ostracized and my failings and my flaws simply made me easy prey.

Into my early adult years, I started getting help and healing for the wounds. I began pulling back the layers slowly, and started realizing that I was not the problem; I was not crazy, and I was not the cause of the emotional symptoms I had experienced. Maybe I wasn’t just flawed, after all.

But the dynamics with my mom continued.

I remember one situation very clearly, that marked the beginning of my pulling back from her. I was pregnant with my first child, and we had been visiting my parents. My husband had to go back to work, so he left and I stayed a couple of extra days by myself. While out and about shopping with my mom, the subject of a particularly toxic ex-boyfriend came up (he had been abusive to me in very similar ways that my mom was – and he may as well have been satan incarnate, for how much she liked him). I mentioned that he was a friend of mine on Facebook (because at this point, I had healed from the relationship and only saw him as someone who had once been important to me); my mom was indignant at this, and responded that her and my dad had seen he was on my friend list. She got very upset, and tore up one side of me and down the other; how dare I keep in contact with such a terrible person? How dare I keep in contact with him when I am now married? Did Kris know about this? I assured her he did and didn’t care, that he trusted me and didn’t feel threatened by some dysfunctional guy I had dated when I was 19. I called her out on her awful behaviour, and told her how ridiculous she was being. How was this about her, I demanded to know? How did she have the right to be hurt – of all things – about this decision I had made that did not affect her?! Of course, that escalated it further, and she clammed up, as she always did when she knew she was beat. With lips pursed (I can still see this common expression of hers so clearly), she didn’t say another word to me. We got back to their place, and I went my room and wept, pregnant belly shaking. I couldn’t believe she had treated me like that, carrying a child nonetheless. As I lay there, I wrongly assumed that if she knew just how upset I was, she would surely feel remorseful and make it right with me. (I can see now that I suffered for many years with Stockholm Syndrome and trauma bonding – the only way to explain that I still had hope that she would be kind.) I went upstairs to speak with her, and got another tongue lashing; her defenses all came out, she threw up her hands as she’s always done, and reminded me why she was the poor victim of her disrespectful daughter’s awful behaviour. This was a small turning point for me: that she would be so insensitive and abusive to me – while I was carrying my child – didn’t sit right with me. I was starting to see that this had always been the norm. But seeing it and trying to beat it didn’t stop it.

Her abusive behaviour and manipulations continued, and only worsened as I started speaking against it. She has perfected the victim deflection, and my enabling father took part too. I started putting up boundaries, and they reacted harshly. The Christmas I was pregnant and near my due date, my anger finally blew one day. Tired, overwhelmed, and annoyed, I lashed out at them for not helping at all when they stayed with us; I was carrying a child and was not feeling well, and thought that was normal that parents would want to help lift the load off of their pregnant daughter. But instead of help once they knew how I felt, they tore into me about how ungrateful I was and how ridiculous it was that I expect help; my dad told me later that “my behaviour” had ruined Christmas for everyone.

One of the last times we stayed with my parents, this abusive dynamic played out yet again; they locked my husband and I (pregnant with #2 at the time), and our 2 year old son, out of their place after we had gone to the beach early one morning. They didn’t call to tell us they were leaving and didn’t leave a key. When I confronted my mom after hours of driving around waiting for them to come home, I was told I was being mean, and given the usual run-down of victim-speak. I now knew that this was the norm, and there was no working things out with her. But I was the problem, right?

Not knowing what else to do, I continued to speak my mind, willfully hoping they would eventually hear me; the conflict only escalated. They started trying to find reasons for why I was acting like this towards them, but never pointed their fingers inward. Even though I had been off of anti-depressants and feeling great for a number of years by now, the family made assumptions that my “poor behaviour” was due to depression, or I wasn’t handling mother hood very well. They couldn’t understand why I was acting the way I was. I was clearly the problem, not them.

With two young boys now in my life and in my heart, I delved further into healing so that I could be free to be the mother I needed. I wanted to be the mother I wished I had. And as it turned out, motherhood became my redemption. Motherhood was what opened my eyes, over a period of many years, to what I was really dealing with. I started waking up to realize that I could never imagine treating my children the way my mom treated me.

I took my kids to the library and the park, I sat on the ground and built train tracks, I chased and wrestled and giggled. I was open to hear my kids tell me when they hurt my feelings, and I owned it, apologized, and made it right. None of these were things I had experienced as a kid. And I began seeing that how I was raised was not normal. It was the opposite of normal. And it had affected me greatly.

Motherhood showed me that what I had experienced growing up (and as an adult) was not just “mom being mom”; it wasn’t just that my mom was different than other moms.

As I delved more into this, and began reading about it, I was shocked to fully realize what I had experienced as a child had a name. There were words to describe what I had been victim to.

Psychological abuse. Emotional abuse. Neglect. Gaslighting.

My mom wasn’t just harsh. Or dysfunctional. Or just different from other moms. My mom was abusive. My family system was abusive.

In addition to this, I came to learn that my mom has the covert version of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. And that is what they do to their children. The lack empathy, they project, they defend, and they neglect. They look after themselves first and foremost, and lack the basic instincts to care and nurture for their children beyond the basic necessities. They twist the truth, make their children question their sanity, and are never open to hearing and reconciling conflict. But will tell everyone else you are the problem.

Narcissists are incapable of empathy. If you look to them for the nurturing, caring, and empathy that you needed as a child and a mother should provide, you’re looking in the wrong place. They will not provide it, and looking for it will give them another reason to rebuke you for your errors and prey on your weaknesses.

All of that is just one part of the abuse. The second part of the abuse is that they will never admit these things; they will never own any of it, never mind change their behaviour when they know how it affects you.

People with NPD can never recognize their faults. In their minds, they just don’t have any. They’ve never done anything wrong, therefore there is nothing they need to take responsibility for. If you’ve been hurt, it must have been your fault. If you bring something to their attention, they will flip it on you and become the victim. They will tell you things like “I’m always the problem”, or “I can never do anything right” to avoid having to own their actions and apologize. (And this act works with many of the people around them. Some of these mothers have Munchausen Syndrome, in which they also create illness in order to be seen as weak and remain the victim.)

And change their behaviour? Never. They don’t need to change. It’s you who’s the problem. And on top of it, if you address their behaviour, your memory and your sanity will be questioned.

They will round up an army around them who will take their side and who will defend them to the death; they will always make excuses for their poor behaviour. “Mom just doesn’t know any better.” “She doesn’t mean anything by it.” “Don’t be so hard on her – she’s old.” She is an expert at appearing weak to remain the victim; as long as she is the victim, she will never have to be responsible or have to change her behaviour. And she will always have a group of people who she has convinced of this, so anyone who questions the dynamic becomes the monster. Never her.

She will gaslight you, and raise her children to be expert gaslighters too; if you have a problem with her, you must be depressed. That memory of her lying to you or hurting you? You’re remembering wrong, that never happened. You’re just being over-sensitive and making a mountain out of a molehill. That’s silly. And her army of supporters will do the same thing to you.

She will project onto you the very thing she is and does. She was the one who struggled with depression and lied about the purpose of that little blue pill on her placemat every night, but it must be you who has depression and isn’t ok. She was the one who acted poorly and hurt people’s feelings, but somehow it’s you who does that. She was the one who hurt people and could never apologize, but she will find a way to say that it is you who always does the hurting.

But the worst part of all of this, is that it’s hidden. People outside of the family will rarely see these things; heck, people inside the family are often blind to it too. Narcissists are experts at keeping up a facade of being a great person, a great mother, a great wife. But behind closed doors, they are something different.

Nobody knew my mom locked me in my room every afternoon until I was 6 to make me take “naps” while she watcher her afternoon line-up of soap operas. Nobody knew my mom forced me to stay in my room for days at a time when I was home sick. Nobody knew my mom never taught me about sex and periods. Nobody knew my mom lashed out at me and never heard my heart. Nobody knew my mom didn’t comfort me when I needed it. Nobody knew my mom, ironically, was the biggest reason I needed comfort. Nobody knew there was a little girl who was dying inside who was waiting for someone to come and save her.

But no one came, because no one knew.

Survivors of narcissistic abuse usually suffer alone, because it’s often not obvious what is being done to them. If they were to speak out, people usually don’t believe them. Very frequently, the siblings themselves often can’t or won’t acknowledge it either; either they were the golden child who didn’t receive the same poor treatment, they’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and can’t see or admit to the abuse, or they are fearful of speaking out.

Sometimes we ourselves have a hard time pinpointing the abuse. We spent a lifetime being gaslighted – told we were crazy, too sensitive, imagining things, or simply telling lies. Our inner guidance system is like an engine who’s wires have all been disconnected, so trusting our gut is something we have to relearn. Many of us who have suffered this type of abuse have a hard time trusting ourselves, because we’ve spent so much time suffering alone and coming to the conclusion that maybe we really are the crazy one. No one else seems to notice, so maybe we are the problem after all.

What also makes the abuse difficult to see, is that Narcissists work really hard to keep up a facade that would refute anything that would accuse them of their behaviours – they are often well-liked people, are active in church communities, and even adopt children (more on that in a coming post, as I was adopted). We don’t have physical scars to prove what was done; we only have a wounded heart and the lingering symptoms of trauma (nail biting, depression, anxiety, trust issues, hyper-vigilance, just to name a few). And, we’ve been taught to be silent.

Often we’re not only taught to be silent, we’re threatened to remain so. To speak out would be to expose the lies and the entire dysfunction system that the family works with. The narcissist has their army’s full loyalty, and anyone speaking out will be the victim of more gaslighting, smear campaigns, and control tactics.

Speaking out is literally to stand in front of a firing squad.

Well, here I am. I am speaking out. Let the weapons fire.

Is it easy to speak up? No, it’s not. Isn’t it disrespectful to speak up, to tell the stories of others’ flaws without their permission? No, it isn’t. The very person who tries to hide the truth is the one who needs to be exposed. A person who sees the wrongs they have done, and have sought reconciliation, aren’t scared of their stories being told; only the abusers who are still hiding their abuse are the ones who are scared. It is not my job to protect the very people who should have protected me and didn’t. It is not my job to protect those who hurt me and have never sought to make it right. It IS my job to be honest, and to heal.

So honest I will be. Because to heal, we need to speak. We need to expose this stuff, so that even while we’re in the arena bleeding, we can let someone else know we’re here in the thick of it, and we’re doing okay. Honesty about our stories encourages other people to step into the arena to take back their life. Sometimes we need to see someone else do it to know that we can, too.

Because maybe there is someone out there who also knew their mom was different. But hasn’t been able to really put their finger on it.

Maybe someone reading this is finally having their abuse validated, and feels a glimmer of hope thinking that maybe they are not inherently unlovable and worthless.

Maybe this will help someone who has struggled because they didn’t have the love and nurturing they needed as a child. I hope this helps someone out there know that it wasn’t them who was the problem. I also hope it helps someone realize this isn’t normal, and that they were done wrong.

So if you are also a survivor of the psychological abuse from a narcissistic mother (or any narcissist, really), I want to say, I’m glad you’re here. Your experience is valid. Your feelings are valid. You are not crazy. You are not the problem. You are worthy of love and empathy. You are loveable. Having a narcissistic mother leaves a child alone and damaged, but the damage is repairable.

There is hope.

Take no part in the worthless deeds of evil and darkness; instead, expose them.– Ephesians 5:11

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The Man in the Arena

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” (Theodore Roosevelt, 1910)

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